


Varying Significance

by Insomniact



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Character Death, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:12:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomniact/pseuds/Insomniact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony suffers a loss. Steve is there for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Varying Significance

**Author's Note:**

> Dummy "dies" in this. I say that here because I don't really feel like it's a spoiler, but if anyone disagrees I can move it to a note at the bottom.

Steve steps out of the elevator sluggishly, weariness creeping inside of him. He drops his bag containing the Captain America outfit onto the floor as soon as he steps foot outside the elevator, and makes his way to the kitchen.

There was an attack on Stark Tower earlier today, or more specifically, Tony’s workshop. Presumably targeting the man himself, but fortunately, at that time he and Steve were out eating at a small café a few blocks away. Tony had gotten a call from Jarvis who alerted them to the incident, and they rushed back to the tower to find the workshop an utter disaster. The surrounding windows were blown out. All of the suits were demolished, only leaving scorch marks in their wake. The rest of the room hadn’t fared much better, most things not directly impacted by the blast had been sent to the outer corners, in piles of scrap metal.

They had quickly determined an explosive had been shot through a window, most likely from an aerial vehicle, as there are no convenient sniping locations in the neighboring buildings. Tony had done that on purpose, built his workshop at an angle that made it extremely difficult to gain access to from the outside of the building. The windows surrounding it were reinforced, but somehow the shot had gotten through that defense easily, if their current state is any indication.

Strangely however, the rest of the tower was undamaged. So whoever did it must have only been targeting Iron Man, but surely everyone knows by now that if you mess with one Avenger, you mess with them all.

And if there’s anyone out there who doesn’t realize this by now, they will damn well make sure they do by the time they’re done with this.

Steve had left the genius to try and sort out the mess it had become, knowing he wouldn’t be of any use there. He went to alert the rest of the team to assemble.

Tony came back up from the workshop a little later, to meet up with Steve who was relaying information over the phone to Natasha at Shield headquarters.

Once they hung up, Tony insisted that he stay and deal with the mess that has become of his workshop, and Steve should head to Shield to help track whoever did this down.

Steve agreed, reluctantly, because it wasn’t like Tony to avoid a confrontation, let alone one that was meant specifically for him. Tony would usually be ranting about how he is just as capable with or without his armor, that this is his fight, and he is going to help. And Steve would have agreed with him, because Tony _is_ just as capable without the suit. Iron Man is only the creation of his unparalleled genius, after all, and taking the former away does not affect the latter.

The request was odd, sure, but not worryingly so, and Steve considered momentarily staying behind as well, and letting the rest of the team deal with the attack. But he would be more of use at SHIELD than he would be staying at the tower. So Steve had left, promising they would take the guy down, and Tony had said in turn that he had no doubts about that.

It was probably the smarter move, having him stay behind, because the perpetrator was most definitely banking on Tony’s anger at having his armors destroyed, and trying to bait the genius into leading himself into a trap.

But when they had finally tracked the man responsible down, and Fury had offered Steve a chance to go with Black Widow and Hawkeye to deal with the criminal, he declined. Natasha and Clint were more than capable of handling such a mission on their own. Plus he wanted to get back to the billionaire, and make sure that he was okay, that he was dealing with the day’s events in an appropriate manner.

When he got to the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator door, grabbing out a bottle of water, and taking a long swig.

“Jarvis?” he asked hesitantly, setting the bottle down on the nearby table.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

If a computerized voice could give off a sense of fatigue, that is how it would sound.

“How is Tony doing?”

“Not good, Sir,” he sounds almost frustrated. That is definitely a bad sign. “The damage is worse than we initially feared.”

Steve pulls out a chair and sits. “How bad?” he inquires, and cringes, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

“All of the Iron Man suits he kept in the tower are gone, permanently.” There’s a pause, and it’s eerie. Steve doesn’t feel like the AI was finished with his explanation. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to continue.

“Along with Dummy,” he finishes eventually.

Steve jolts in his seat, knocking over the bottle on the table in front of him. “Dummy? But—“

“He was located too close to the coordinates of the detonation. I’m afraid he was caught in the blast as well,” Jarvis cuts him off before he’s able to finish his question.

Steve rests his elbows on the hard surface, bringing his head down to run a hand through his sweat-mussed hair.

Tony built Dummy when he was still a teen, more than 30 years ago now. Steve has only known Tony for 8 years now, the two of them having been together for 6 of those. Tony has had the robot since before be met Pepper, possibly even before Rhodey.

Even though his actions towards the bots can seem somewhat rude or callous, Steve knows there is an affectionate intent behind it all. The genius threatens them constantly, but he would never follow up on any of them.

Tony loves his bots.

Steve has come to see them as family too, part of this dysfunctional family they have all created together. Sometimes he goes down to the workshop just to interact with them – though watching the engineer work is always a plus, too. They are inspiringly bright, even now, decades after their creation. And Steve has had enough experience with the modern world to know that they have far outlasted the general lifespan of technology today. Most people get new phones yearly these days, if not sooner. Tony always insists on upgrading the soldier’s phone every few months, but that’s just something Steve has gotten used to, living with the head of the leading household electronics company.

He brings his head up, picking up the water bottle now lying horizontally on the table. “What about Butterfingers and You?”

“They too received some damage, but luckily nothing beyond the scope of repairs.”

“That’s … good,” he breathes, letting out a quick sigh of relief. “And Tony, where is he?”

“Master Stark is currently located on your floor.”

Steve grabs the bottle again, and takes another long drink, considering. “How is he?”

“Sir’s current blood alcohol content is .13,” he explains vaguely.

Steve just says, “Yeah,” as he stands. He grabs another water bottle from the fridge, and makes his way to their floor, being sure to pick up his bag on the way there.

Once he gets to the right level, he is assailed by darkness. Not one light is on, and the place gives off a sense of foreboding. Tony must have ordered Jarvis to keep them all off.

He drops off his bag in his and Tony’s room, and heads to the bar.

Tony is sitting at a stool in front of the countertop, as he expected. He’s hunched over roughly, one hand surrounding a crystal glass filled with golden liquid, which Steve can barely make out in the shadowed room.

He’s wearing the same clothes from earlier, an old AC/DC t-shirt that’s so worn the logo is barely legible anymore, and a matching pair of baggy black jeans.

Steve can’t see his face from where he stops on the opposite side of the room, wanting the genius to notice him in his own time, hoping he doesn’t come off as overbearing. The last thing he wants is to coddle the full-grown man.

He just wants to offer his support, offer the man comfort. He can try to make sure Tony doesn’t feel worthless or lonely right now, and help him channel his possibly toxic feelings in non-destructive ways.

This is a delicate matter, which Steve knows he needs to handle with the utmost care.

One wrong move and the brunet will withdraw, bring up his barriers, and that could end up especially damaging with the amount of alcohol coursing through his body. This could easily turn into Tony berating himself, ranting about how useless emotions are, that he is weak for showing them. _He was just a stupid robot, one that sorely needed an upgrade. Thousands of people die every day and I’m caught up over a piece of machinery? I have witnessed people die before, countless times. Dummy isn’t anything special. I could make an army of better robots in a day, for god sakes!_

But that’s not how Steve wants the genius to remember his bot, _his friend_. He was – still is –  an important part of Tony’s life, and he doesn’t deserve to be thought of as anything less than the caring, albeit somewhat clumsy, robot who would always look after his creator’s wellbeing, who would bring him snacks and those gross green smoothies whenever Steve wasn’t around to make sure genius ate enough.

Building another robot to compensate for his absence would be disrespectful. You can’t _replace_ Dummy.

There’s a small hitch in Tony’s breath, as he begins to turn towards Steve, but aborts the movement, settling back into his uneasy position from before, eyes locked onto his glass, gazing desperately into the contents, as if it holds the answers he is seeking.

“We found him,” Steve begins, keeping his voice low, after a few more minutes pass, now leaning against the wall closest to him. “He was heading towards one of AIM’s warehouses down south. Natasha and Clint have been dispatched to take care of him.”

Tony doesn’t say anything to this, so Steve continues.

“We don’t know what exactly he was after yet, though.”

“The suits, probably,” Tony offers, so low Steve barely catches it, and his voice sounds like he just swallowed a handful of rocks. “That’s what they’re always after.”

Tony turns his head the slightest amount. From this angle Steve can see the wetness in his eyes, threatening to escape from the sides.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” he asks, and his voice is barren, with the tiniest indication of bitterness to the question.

It makes anger flare inside of Steve, at whoever is responsible for this, whoever is responsible for turning this wonderful, brilliant, passionate man into the dreary sight he is right now. For a moment he wishes he could say he did, that he went to take down the bastard that went after Tony, the man he loves. But he reels in that feeling, because this is more important, here is where he is needed most.

Tony’s posture has been slowly loosening since he noticed the bigger man’s presence, almost sitting upright in his seat now. There is even the slimmest hint of a smile on the man’s lips, even if it reeks of pain and exhaustion. Steve feels confident in the fact that the billionaire wants him here too, even if he wouldn’t admit it out loud. Or even to himself.

“Do you think those two won’t be able to handle it by themselves?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow in challenge, trying to divert the question away from his own motives.

Tony just grunts softly in response, turns back to his drink again, picking it up and swirling it in his hand.

A lull follows, both of them watching the fluid spin in waves, and then settle. Tony takes a drink, and when he pulls the lip of the container away, it’s almost empty now. Steve takes a couple steps forward from the wall.

“I think I’m gonna do some remodeling. Build the workshop into the middle of the floor this time,” Tony proposes passively, surprisingly stoic for someone working on the ends of an expensive – in Steve’s opinion, which is admittedly a little looser compared to a few years ago – bottle of single-malt whiskey. “I should have done that the first time.”

Steve hums pleasantly as he comes to sit on the neighboring stool to Tony’s right, setting the extra bottle of water still in one hand down off to the side. He leans into the brunet’s space, grabs the glass, and downs the rest of the contents. Tony turns to look at him, eyes mostly dry now. He scowls, Steve just smiles back at him, setting the clear container down without taking his eyes off of the genius.

Tony’s frown wavers for a second, like he’s caught up in a thought, not sure whether he wants to express it.

Apparently he decides against it, as he simply turns back to once again set a resolute stare against the finished wood in front of him.

Another silence sets between them, broken with Tony’s unusually heavy breaths. Steve leans toward him some more, sets a hand on the genius’ nearest leg, at the midpoint from waist to knee.

“I was thinking we could have a movie marathon tomorrow. We haven’t had one in a while, and the list of movies I need to watch is getting pretty big.”

Tony raises an eyebrow at that half-heartedly. “And laze about like some kind of tramp?” He tries to smile, but it’s sloppy, muddled with the liquor swimming in his veins. He seems to realize this, and it falls off his features almost as fast as it had appeared. “Uh," he clears his throat. "I have stuff to do. I have a new suit to build.”

“You still have the suitcase one though, right?”

“That won’t hold up for long. I’ll be fucked if Galactus decides to pay us a visit.”

“It’ll do,” Steve assures, giving the other man’s leg a firm squeeze, which earns him a small shiver. “Anything you build is flawless.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but a corner of his lips notches up in synchronous. “Steve, you’ve already gotten in my pants. You can stop now.”

Steve huffs quickly, amused, and he’s close enough now that Tony can feel the puff of air on his bare skin.

Tony’s body language has loosened significantly now. He’s turned towards Steve at an angle, and is looking at the bigger man directly in the eyes. His face is no longer the stoic picture it was when he first joined him here. Now Steve can see a glimmer of sadness within his eyes, the kind of closed off sadness that usually accompanies grief.

It’s an improvement, but it still makes Steve’s insides twist painfully.

They sit there, in comfortable silence, for a significant span of time. Eventually Steve grabs the unopened water off of the counter and hands it to Tony.

The genius grimaces at it, offended. “This won’t get me drunk.”

Steve just smiles.

Tony downs the bottle in one drink anyway. “The things I do for you,” he complains, and Steve’s smile widens. Tony screws the cap back on and throws it behind the bar, with a little too much force.

“You know, they always glorify Dummy as the first robot I ever built, because he was the first one to be published in the papers.”

The seemingly random anecdote catches Steve off guard, but he quickly recovers.

“He wasn’t?”

“Nah,” Tony says, turning to face the bar again, and brings his hands to settle along the edge, fingers splayed. For a moment it seems like that’s the only response Steve is going to get, but after a couple minutes he’s talking again. “The first time I was kidnapped, I was eight.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow aggressively, not sure what this has to do with Dummy.

“They just locked me in a room, didn’t bother tying me up,” the billionaire continues solemnly. “I was lucky that time.” _That time?_ Steve’s eyebrows groove downwards even further, but he doesn’t want to say anything, in case it disturbs the brunet from his sudden talkative mood. He doesn’t share very often, even now. Steve feels there is still quite a bit of the genius’ life he isn’t aware of, and they’ve been married for almost 4 years now.

“It was empty, nothing in it. Not even any windows, but there was a vent, and I squeezed through it.” His shoulders slump as he leans his forearms onto the bar. “I ended up in a big warehouse type room. It was filled with all kinds of parts, likely from dismantled Stark Industries products.”

Tony looks lost in thought now, like he has completely forgotten about Steve’s presence. Steve rubs his hand still on the other man’s leg up and down his thigh reassuringly as he continues his story.

“A couple hours later one of the kidnappers found me there, surrounded by spare parts, playing with a robot I had just made.”

Of course Tony would find being abducted and held against his will the perfect time to settle down and build something.

“He just walked over and sat in front of me, started asking me questions about it. It was small, not even a foot tall. It could only rotate, and had one flashing blue light that I intended to be its eye. It beeped occasionally, and I told the guy it was supposed to be able to communicate through them, but I couldn’t make it work properly.”

His voice has grown a slight self-deprecating note to it now. An eight year old who made a highly advanced piece of self-aware technology, and he was still disappointed by it, by himself. Steve just shakes his head sadly.

“The guy—I never learned his name, even after he took the beanie off his head—asked me if I had given it a name.” Tony laughs humorlessly. “I looked at him like he was crazy, told him it was dumb, not good enough for a name, that it couldn’t even talk. He suggested I name it Dummy then. I laughed at him and told him I thought that was a stupid name.” His eyes begin to water again. A couple tears fall, but he is quick to wipe them away, and continues through it. “He agreed with me, and said sometimes stupid names are the meaningful ones.”

He sighs, it’s a drawn out thing, like he’s releasing all of his anxieties through it.

“We talked for a long time,” Tony starts again after a brief pause. “And he ended up letting me go. He even gave me money for a cab,” he says with a smile, and he looks towards Steve. “He was the Captain America of kidnappers.”

“We do seem to have a weakness for you,” Steve inputs sagely, not missing a beat, and returns the smile.

“I never found out what they were after, or why nobody else came looking for us.” Tony brings a hand down to rest on top of the blond’s, still placed on his lap. “I got home, and my parents hadn’t even realized I was gone. Howard was in the foyer entertaining possible investors and my mom was tending to her garden. White daisies were in that year, I guess.”

“You built a fully functioning robot in a couple hours, as a kid?” Steve questions, in awe. He can’t ever imagine himself getting over how brilliant this man is.

He wisely ignores the topic of his parents, not sure if he would be able to contain his anger at how much Howard fucked up with his child, how he gave up his opportunity to get to know this wonderful person.

“I wouldn’t say _fully_ functioning,” the genius denies skeptically. “I mean, it wasn’t even painted red and gold.”

Steve laughs. “Of course.”  He clears his throat. “Uh, you said ‘That time?’ Were there others?” he asks hesitantly. He feels bad at taking advantage of the genius in his uninhibited state, but he can’t resist the temptation of learning just a little bit more about Tony’s life before Iron Man.

Tony is thrown off by it for a second.

“Oh,” he says rapidly, realization hitting. “Yeah. Once when I was in college, they chained me to a wall then. _That_ was not fun,” he explains contemplatively, eyes traveling upwards, grimacing. “And then again after I took over the company, I was probably around 26 by then. They initially tied me to a chair. They were a bunch of dumbasses who didn’t know how to tie a decent knot though, and I broke out of it easily. But there was nowhere for me to go, and when they came back they tied me down to a box spring. I pissed them off real bad, and they beat the shit out of me.”

He sounds proud of himself at that, and Steve almost admonishes him for it, but it’s in the past now, and the last thing Tony needs right now is someone lecturing him.

Instead, he flips his hand over to grasp Tony’s own.

“That was the first time I ever passed out and woke up in the hospital.” He straightens his back, and moves to sit on the stool correctly. “Then, of course, there was Afghanistan.” His voice is rougher now. “And let me tell you, after being tied up, drugged, having a bag put over my head, surrounded by a bunch of angry men who look like they could pass as early civilization warmongers, restraints kind of lose their appeal.”

Steve had suspicions, ever since Clint had said he couldn’t figure out what to get them for a newlywed gift, and asked Tony if they were into bondage. The brunet had stiffened immediately, it was barely a thing, there and gone so fast that if the room wasn’t filled with superheroes, nobody would have even noticed.

Their sex life is spectacular, for sure, and both of them are always willing to try new things, but that topic is something Steve has steadfastly avoided.

Steve slowly inclines towards the other man, invading his space. He moves his free hand to rest on the genius’ cheek, and uses it to shift Tony’s head towards his own, and brings their lips together softly.

The kiss is slow, but the passion is still there. Steve tries to transfer all of his emotions through their lips. How glad he is that the genius feels comfortable enough around him to share these stories with him, even if he was aided by alcohol.

Tony has had plenty of experience with the stuff over the years, and still knows how to hold his tongue under such conditions. You won’t survive long in the business world if you spill all your secrets as soon as the liquor hits your bloodstream. So if Tony absolutely did not want Steve to know these things, he wouldn’t.

Steve’s stomach fills with warmth at that thought.

Tony leans into the bigger man eagerly, nearly sitting on him. They move against each other for a while, and Tony brings his hands to settle on the other’s waist. Steve pulls back just enough to put the slightest amount of space between their mouths.

“Thank you,” he says fondly. He can see the other man’s eyes clearly in the dark room for the first time, and they’re glazed over, from the whiskey or the kiss, he doesn’t know. He looks heart-wrenchingly tired, and there are a couple new wrinkles around his eyes that Steve hasn’t seen before.

He thinks they’re beautiful, and he smiles gently as he brings up a finger to trace over one of the lines. Tony hums, and leans into the touch.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he offers after a bit, standing and pulling Tony up with him.

Once they get to their room, Tony shucks his shirt and pants sloppily and falls into bed. Steve chuckles to himself as he makes his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

When he gets back, he crawls onto the other side of the large bed slowly.

He watches Tony for a few minutes, taking him in, arms thrown out in odd angles, body languid against the delicate sheets, face smashed into the pillow carelessly. Steve draws a line with his finger down the engineer’s spine, appreciating the intimate tremble it causes.

He curls up against Tony’s back, laying his cheek against the smaller man’s neck and bringing a hand around to the center of his chest, where the arc reactor used to be. He pulls Tony flush against his front.

“It’s okay to miss him, you know. I’ll miss him. Butterfingers and You will miss him. I’m sure Jarvis will too,” he says carefully, and kisses the lobe of Tony’s ear.

Tony brings a hand to Steve’s, giving it a good squeeze.

“I know.”


End file.
